


gemini moon, cancer rising

by HugSomebody



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Genderbending, Rule 63, SeijohDorks, Soulmates, longfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugSomebody/pseuds/HugSomebody
Summary: Oikawa Tooru, Warrior Princess and Captain of the Hunt, swore to protect Seijoh from all harm. Devastating creatures known as Pokemon stalk the island nation and they've been evolving ever since the violation of one of the world's most ancient pacts. With friends at her side and Spirit locked in her heart, Oikawa strives to save their quickly crumbling world.





	gemini moon, cancer rising

**Author's Note:**

> very excited for this adventure w. you all <3 thanks for stopping by!

When she was young, Iwaizumi flew with the butterflies. Arms lifted to the air and hugged the golden shine of morning, reflecting the magnificent bronze of her skin for as far as the sky could stretch. Tiny feet thundered across the ground as the net bouncing against the top of her head wobbled. One second - _just the right second_ \- and a swing of an arm later, she found herself with a new swarm of critters. Iwaizumi remembers tugging home mason jars, little air vents popped into their screw tops, full of butterflies. Besides her elders, only one very special person in Iwaizumi’s life was allowed to ever say hello to her bug collection. Her world, at four-years-old, shined with scales and scintillating prisms of mason jars, everything alive under her fingertips. 

Fourteen years later, Iwaizumi finds herself bulleting across a familiar forest floor. She may be farther from home, farther from the ground itself; because her legs are longer, much more toned and her slender yet strong arms are built too, she propels herself forward even faster. A black ponytail swings down to the middle of her back, in time with the gentle push and pull of a river running adjacent to her. Iwaizumi Hajime, daughter of the Earth and orphan of her biological parents, always found solace in the silence of the forest. She closes her eyes as she sprints forward. 

“Iwa-chan! You’re here too?!” a high-pitched voice says, breaking through her concentration. A nerve pulses on Iwaizumi’s forehead. “You’re so late, Iwa-chan! Usually you’ve done all your bug-hunting before the rest of us have even woken up!~ Are you on a special mission or something?” 

Iwaizumi ignores the voice. For this moment, she’s back in her childhood; and it’s muscle memory which guides her to lifting that arm of hers towards what is now no longer a net but rather a hammer. The iron-clad hilt of the first of her twin hammers, whose heads are each the size of a very annoying person’s whole torso, hits her hand and she yanks it with immense strength. She spins the weapon in her hand, wielding it effortlessly before finally opening her eyes. 

The next second, Iwaizumi’s hammer crashes through the thickened plates of insectoid armor. The shells scatter like smithereens, smearing the afternoon with their mauve blood. A thousand foot-long tentacles squirm as the enormous Drapion, twice Iwaizumi’s size, roars in a way that splits the sky apart. The discarded midsection of its body spurts blood, staining the forest floor as the remnants of nerves within it bunch and twitch uncontrollably. Iwiazumi has two seconds to react before the creature smashes through her with two enraged pincers each carrying an anchor’s weight on their tip - 

In that time, that stupid twiny voice yells out again, “Wow, Iwa-chan! So strong!” 

Iwaizumi flips her off. 

With her other arm, Iwaizumi free her secondary hammer from its sleek black cradle on her back. She holds up the first hammer in front of her face, just in time for all the weight of a comet crashing into her. The shine of the Drapion’s pincer threatens to blind her if not before a set of ravenous teeth sink into her first. A line of acid spittle from the monster’s mouth sizzles into her hammer as Iwaizumi’s wrists shake, threatening to bulge under the weight. A gasp escapes her as her breath stutters and shakes. 

“Iwa-chan, I heard the underlining sinew of these shells have restorative properties in them!” There’s her voice again, quizzical, nonchalant. “What a good find!” 

Iwaizumi imagines it now: the beautiful warrior princess of Aoba Johsai sitting on _her_ pile of scales. A thin sheet of precisely-sculpted Haxorus armor slips over her upper chest, haphazardly open and tied at her back with a ribbon like a halter top. Iwaizumi hates that design; it’s nonsensical, yet there are no scars lining the voluptuous, soft plane of Oikawa’s torso to suggest its protection would fail her. Then there’s the ridiculous manner of that short combat skirt, crafted with that same teal armor. Crystal heels with blades sculpted along their edges stay where they as the girl stretches backwards lazily, still watching Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s dual blades, sheathed on her hips, sit stupid for their lack of doing anything. 

The worst part of her whole design is the sway of those chocolate locks, messily washing down her whole back. Brown eyes grow somehow bigger than the moon, declaring the incoming tide of every woman’s heart against all physics and scientific reasoning. All that, and she’s _hotter_ than Iwaizumi is. Bitch. 

Oikawa always touched her things without asking. 

Iwaizumi overpowers the Drapion, forcing it back. A battle of wills emerges, with the beast quickly regenerating its decapitated lower half. The strength it multiplies from the slippery, shiny appendage now dangling from the incision bullets towards Iwaizumi. Skillfully, she slams one hammer down, then two. A warm splatter of blood sprays her face as she brings her hammer down one more time, ensuring the creature’s death. Iwaizumi’s heart beats violently against her ribcage, and she waits a moment for it to calm. When she turns, she finds that her heartbeat only picks up. 

For the first time that day, Iwaizumi turns towards Oikawa. She looks exactly as she imagined: long and lean form stretched back in such a way that her skirt billows open for all to see. Hot, red roses blossom on Iwaizumi’s cheeks as she rolls her eyes. 

“Oikawa. Get up.” 

The other girl smirks, not a stranger to Iwaizumi’s old traditional sensibilities. In that moment, Iwaizumi notices two things: the cut-up corpse of a Yanmega, its green and red scales shimmering in a pile half the size of the Drapion’s body. Now in hindsight, Iwaizumi recalls the drone of the mighty dragon’s wings against the sky before Oikawa sliced straight through membrane and flesh. Yet that’s not the first thing she noticed.

What Iwaizumi noticed first was the slightly odd angle Oikawa’s knee pointed out at. It was more a bump than an angle, and the girl must have been doing well enough to bring down a Yanmega, but still Iwaizumi’s brain threatened to burst with worry. She tucked the thought away for later. 

“No need to be grouchy, Iwa-chan. Everyone stays up late sometimes, and you had quite the wild night, didn’t you?” That sickly sweet smile coated her face. If anyone else smiled like Oikawa, it may be cute or considerate; but Iwaizumi knows her enough now to sense foreboding in her smile. Oikawa knows something she’s not supposed to know about Iwaizumi, and it _bugs_ her bad.

“Bitchykawa. I don’t have to tell you anything,” she spits back, voice gruff. Iwaizumi begins gathering up the shells of the slain beast, each a foot long, maybe 100 pounds in total. Now this is where her new net comes into play: she unties her ponytail, taking away the magic band that explodes into a thick mesh bag. Iwazumi wastes no time, hurling scales into the bag, careful not to cut her palms on their serrated edges. She’s a bit over this part of the bug catching process. 

“But Iwaaa-chan, we’re best friends! Think of us as being on the same team,” Oikawa whines with a side pout that makes those stupidly perfect dimples shine. Her mouth upturns the same moment, eyes narrowing as they close in on Iwaizumi. “And there are no secrets on teams, Iwa-chan.” 

She’s halfway to thinking up a new insult for Oikawa before the taller girl steps closer to her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t always have to act so tough, Iwa-chan. It’s just me.” Iwaizumi looks into her face now. High cheekbones dusted with freckles like tanned sunkisses meet her line of vision, and looking up means falling prey to those eyes. Instead, Iwaizumi lets her eyes flutter over the golden crown nested on top of the side bun Oikawa threw all her hair into. Only royalty of her caliber could be so supreme and _lazy looking._

“I apologize. Bitchy-Princess-Kawa, let’s go,” Iwaizumi says with a grin. She scoots away from Oikawa’s touch, opting to throw her hammers back on their cradle. With a mighty huff, she lifts the bag of scales (both her own and Oikawa’s) over her back and begins walking forth without breaking a sweat. “Will you come with me?” she asks the taller girl, after a moment’s worth of hesitation. 

The smile that breaks across Oikawa’s face is rare, true. Somewhere in the past few seconds, Iwaizumi has forgiven her for some boundary Oikawa transcended. This is all the answer she needs as she ambles forward, placing a hand on her hip and laughing. A week’s worth of gossip, somehow transpired in the twenty-four hour time span since Oikawa saw Iwaizumi, begins to bubble from the princess’s lips. Iwaizumi gently nods, not really listening but instead paying attention to the more important details as they work their way back to the village. Oikawa is safe. Check. Oikawa walks okay for now. Check. Oikawa is still as crazy and competitive as ever. Check. 

It’s not that she offered for Oikawa to let her see the butterflies fourteen years ago; it’s more like Oikawa barged in, opened up the mason jar of Iwaizumi’s life, squeezed herself besides the girl, and shut the lid from the inside. At age four Oikawa knew she wanted to live their little lives together forever. 

/// 

When they cross sloping hills to make it back to the mainland, Oikawa wishes they hadn’t. The flourishing city of Aoba Johsai, built upon steep, spiky white rock, greets them as soon as a crowd of fans do. With vibrant voices unbefitting of their frail frames, they yell, “Go go go go go, Seijoh!” as a war chant hailing the goods brought back from the hunt. Oikawa’s nose wrinkles as she the whiff of rotten assaults her senses. The villagers are clad in the tatters of Mareep skin that threatens to fall off their body in dirty, brown tufts. Well, some people flourish here. 

_“Not good,”_ she thinks to herself while she flashes an easy smile to the crowd. _“You will all die through the winter and there’s little we can do about that.”_ They yell her name, “Princess Oikawa!” some in complete desperation and begging, others in complete awe of the warrior princess. The children have been told stories ever since their birth of her great feats for Aoba Johsai. Most of those stories aren’t true, but Oikawa was always quick to bolster her confidence through the white lies, each one planted on a pathway of the first seconds of her life through this point eighteen years later. 

The people worse off for wear know who to go to for help. Iwaizumi hands out chunks of shells, careful to wrap her hands around an older woman’s palms so she will know the weight of the scale. Even with Iwaizumi’s help, the woman struggles momentarily to lift the weight. Iwaizumi grimaces as the woman murmurs, “Thank you, child,” clasping onto her hand and staring into her soul with light. Iwaizumi turns away, her eyes shaded as she thinks about how these scales won’t be enough for this woman and her children and grandchildren - 

“Hurry, Iwa-chan, we gotta make it to the Castle.” A warning rolls off underneath her words. Her hands on her hips, her head cocked, Oikawa would never notice the curious gazes washing over her dragon armory. Her chestplate may be worth more than their all their lives combined. Through gritted teeth, Iwaizumi huffs and continues to move through the procession with Oikawa. Behind her back, she continues to pass out pieces of the hunt that will no doubt sell for a pretty penny at the market. 

They cut through the city quick. Aoba Johsai is a wealthy city, established hundreds of years ago by an elderly dragon’s compassion, enriched by the merchants who call the luxury city their home. As they pierce through the outskirts and move closer to the heart, the paucity vanishes so the city shines: huge stalls line the paved cobblestone streets. People clad in silk robes laugh and smile as they sort through goods, each item a good caught from the sea that whispers the ocean’s secrets when one holds it to their ear. 

They pass through Matsukawa’s Weaponry Shop, waving hello to their childhood friend, who stands behind a cauldron almost as big as she is. Behind her, a fire roars, licking up the melted steel that meets its mouth. Hanamaki, a girl with cropped pink hair and goggles thrown onto her face, waves nonchalantly at the two as she works behind Matsukawa. A hot hammer slams down on a blade as the sculpting process begins again. They set the air afire together, hot and humid and cloyingly delectable with the scent of new steel. 

Oikawa tries her best not to cringe at the next shop that comes their way. Compared to the last stall, full of vim, this one looks like the girl sitting stock still at the center sucked up all the color and life within a three-meter radius. The girl at the middle, Kyoutani, glowers as Oikawa passes by. Oikawa avoids her gaze with distaste, not wanting to see the blond bangs hurtling down her forehead and to the middle of her nose. Random strands of black hair slap onto her mess of blonde hair pushed into two pigtails hanging off the side of her head. She’s got on enough eyeliner today to make up for a whole year’s worth, an endeavor that does nothing to lessen the absurdity of glowing jaundiced eyes. She’s got on a robe or _something_ , something flowy and unsightly and boxy-looking on her awkward frame. Above Kyoutani’s bench lies a lone, brave sign: “Kyoutani Apothecary”. 

Oikawa glares at Iwaizumi as they pass through it. She just can’t help it. Iwaizumi glares back, but not before passing the lone blonde girl a kind smile. 

Then come Oikawa’s suitors. A flock of men twice her age swarm her, each donned in flashy layers of armor that they’ve never fought in before. Each one bears a bouquet of flowers to the princess, vying for her courtship. Iwaizumi rolls her eyes; sure, Oikawa would have received this attention as she’s a princess who just arrived at marrying age, but what’s not acceptable is the way she basks in their attention. Iwaizumi wishes she could spit in each of the chain-mail gauntlets held out to Oikawa’s hand. Little would they know that those same palms have torn mighty beast limb from limb, bare. 

“Meet you at the Castle,” Iwaizumi says, so softly that Oikawa would have missed it if she wasn’t tuned into her voice specifically. What Iwaizumi doesn’t see, as she sinks out of the sea of men, is the way Oikawa’s gaze longs after her. Oikawa curses under her breath, watching the shorter woman saunter away, powerful little frame tottering from side to side with the rock of her hips. 

Iwaizumi’s a full head shorter than Oikawa. An hourglass figure graces her frame, pronounced by the hammers perfectly aligned with her shoulder blades. Everything about Iwaizumi, to Oikawa, is seamless: every indenture of toned muscle sculpted of bronze, the faded cargo shorts clinging to her frame, the modest, teal-colored chain armor clasped onto her chest. The girl’s gaze could cut glass, her eyebrows and mouth hard little lines that connect into impenetrable concentration. Oikawa has never seen anyone be so beautiful without trying. 

_“Damn. Iwa-chan’s mad at me again,”_ Oikawa thinks to herself with a smile, closing her eyes as she replies on auto-pilot to her suitors. The procession lasts for another half hour or so; lately, she’s come to hate the pointless exchanges and small talks as much as she desires them. 

“Lady Oikawa,” a voice sings out to her. A young servant of the Castle approaches, bowing to Oikawa as she does so. Her heart-shaped head is adorned with sideswept bangs. Flowing robes gracefully lift from her form as she stands straight, waiting before she can speak again to the princess. 

“Ah, hi Yahaba,” Oikawa greets nonchalantly, grabbing onto the young girl’s elbow. She clings to Yahaba like a lifeline, using the girl to float away from her suitors. “Bye,” she sings back to the men who stare back at her, still gaping. “How are you, Yah-chan?” 

The other girl nods at her in reply, careful not to insult her by looking at her for too long. _“Everyone’s all bullshit and no party today, huh?”_ Oikawa thinks to herself, her annoyance never betraying her face. She holds her tongue for a moment, knowing that the crystal curved staircase up to the castle cuts off her freedom to say such brash things. 

Above them spans a castle crafted in the gem of crystal and white rock. Thick, rolling clouds support its very structure, carrying the castle to a different heart of the city every day. That is the nature of Aoba Johsai: resilient, ever-moving towards the next moment of fortuity. Straight victory, a value Oikawa ascribes herself to as she ascends up the chilling, steep steps. From this vantage point, endless spires and towers jut forever upwards, lost in cloud. 

“Lady Oikawa,” Yahaba blurts out, “do you happen to know the current circumstance of Kyoutani?” Her startled expression suggests she almost wants to retract her words. 

A flash of annoyance ticks through Oikawa’s whole body, her spirit closer to clocking in on life for today. “What about Kyoutani, Yah-chan?” she asks, disguising her hatred with that same sweet tone. Her heels tap against the staircase as they begin winding themselves upwards towards the tips of the sky. 

Yahaba stops midstep. Her gaze centers on a nonexistent spot on the step. Through the crystal, one can see the colorful dots down below that signify the stalls from earlier. A moment later, dead eyes stare back up at Oikawa. 

“Lady Iwaizumi said that Kyoutani saw the end of the world.” 

/// 

“Elder Irihata and Elder Mizoguchi,” Oikawa states in greeting as she bows to the duo facing her. The latter of her aunties smiles meekly at her. She pins up dirty blonde hair with ten different glass-blown pins; the former of her aunties grimaces, aged past the formalities and disguises that the mores of royalty demands. Oikawa appreciates this as she sits down upon a velvet bench, nodding to Iwaizumi who’s already been there for who knows how long. Alas, Oikawa is late again. Yahaba bows to the elders and Oikawa a final time before bounding down a shiny hallway, closing the door behind her with a heavy thud. The resounding silence among them all, palpable to the touch, makes Iwaizumi shiver. 

“Thank you for bringing in Drapion and Yanmega scales today, the two of you. Aoba Johsai flourishes under your Huntership,” Elder Mizoguchi says, finally breaking through the quiet. “We deposited the scales into our medical care immediately of course, and are so grateful to have warriors of your caliber who could hunt such beasts with such ease.” 

“It’s our duty.” Black hair sticks to the side of Iwaizumi’s face. With her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes trained on the elders before her, a slight air of impatience surrounds her. Oikawa understands why; no matter how long their friendship spanned or how many nights Iwaizumi spent playing hide and seek in the castle with Oikawa, the girl would never grow accustomed to the chrome walls. When Iwaizumi looked into any surface, all she saw was the reflection of one who never belonged; and today, especially, it felt like nothing belonged in its right place. 

Oikawa knocks her knee against Iwaizumi’s, with no reaction from the girl. 

“As is our duty to tell you both the honest truth: the Pokemon in this area are multiplying.” Iwaizumi straightens her spine by a centimeter. 

“I thought this might be the case.” Oikawa breaths in, dropping her facade of smiles and sunshine. “The Pokemon off the shores seemed more riled the past few weeks than any other time we’ve seen them.” 

“What could be causing this?” Iwaizumi asks, her knee still stiff against Oikawa’s. The latter girl’s aunts ignore the subtle exchange as they pass one another a concerned glance. 

Finally, Irihata speaks. The wrinkles along her jaw seem to sink deeper into her face with every word she says next. “Our scouts say that someone far north from here created a Pokemon capture device.” 

Suddenly, the walls of the castle seem like they could collapse; the glass would crash into them all in one crescendo of shattered part after another. The gravity of this news shakes Iwaizumi, who finally turns towards Oikawa, her mouth forming a small “o” with the reality of the situation. Mizoguchi breaths in, her calm expression and smile wiped off her face with the truth lying between them all now like a black hole. It’ll suck your breath away, take away everything you love and know before you even realized how big of a problem such a tiny point could be. 

“What?” 

Oikawa breaks the silence first, her head cocking to the right with a smile. “That’s not possible, you both. All the nations signed a pact preventing that very thing from happening.~” 

“Oikawa, if the scout’s true, it’s happening,” Iwaizumi replies, staring at the girl with incredulity. 

“That’s not true, Iwa-chan.” 

“It could be.” 

When Oikawa’s eyes meet the world again, they are hardened amber stones that no longer belong to the spoiled brunette from before. The girl who ran late for every one of her royal meetings, who flirted with her suitors for her own enjoyment runs home, far and free, as the warrior princess emerges. 

“Then we will stop that very thing from happening.” Oikawa presses a large hand across her chest, slender fingers sliding across the reflective armor. “I swore to protect Seijoh with all that I have, and nothing will stand in my way as the Captain of the Hunt.” 

“I thought you might say that,” Irihata begins, “and I’m glad you did, because we received the order from your mom that you’re going to lead the search for the creator of the PokeBall.” 

Iwaizumi rubs her chin. With eyes lost in thought, she muses, “So that’s what they’re calling it. Where up North did your scout catch word of this creation?” 

“The perpetrator apparently disappeared off the coast of Nekoma. Though we don’t have confirmation yet if they belong from their nation- “ 

“Then I set sail tomorrow to Nekoma,” Oikawa states definitely, standing up. Her aunts’ vision never falters at the rude gesture of their niece; Oikawa always pushed the envelope, challenging social conventions in her untimely position as princess of one of the largest and wealthiest nations in their world. 

“Princess Oikawa, your mother and I worked hard developing an entire team for your protection along this arduous journey. You’ll be happy to know tha-!” Elder Mizoguchi always seemed like an assistant to Oikawa’s mom and not her actual sister; for Oikawa never felt an intimate relationship with her, never knew if she could breach past the layers of formality with her. Because if they had been close, then she would know that - 

“I’ll only need Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, hugging the other girl from behind. “Save the team you assembled, because you’ll need more warriors on the ground if the situation grows as grim as you think it will.” 

“What are we to do should we come into contact with the PokeBall?” Iwaizumi asks, otherwise unperturbed with the touch. 

“You bring it back.” 

Irihata’s words of finality summon two events: the sharp intake of Iwaizumi’s breath and the shrill scream of someone outside! Time begins ticking again, the future waiting for none as the Elder women stand to attention. While they stand, Iwaizumi and Oikawa sprint - Iwaizumi yells something to Oikawa but the girl doesn’t hear it over the mighty roar that shakes the entire castle afloat, the pressure of it threatening to bring the whole thing crashing into the ground - 

“Get to the center of the castle! Move away from any pillars!” Iwaizumi’s voice cuts through the the chaos! People swarm the hallways, slipping and sliding on a floor not designed for this level of panic. Iwaizumi’s hands are everywhere; from helping people up to balancing fallen crystal towers before they can spread in a thousand different spikes and cuts, she does all she can as Oikawa continues to make her way out of the castle’s heart. 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa speaks straight to Iwaizumi’s soul. Only in such a tone could she capture the complete attention of the shorter girl who stops in her tracks, combat boots skidding to a stop. In front of them, an octagonal window twice as tall as them reveals the situation outside. 

Iwaizumi’s knuckles whiten as she grips the ice-cold railing. Leaning outside helps her see that chunks of the castle tumble to the ground below; the black curtain of her hair rolls out with the wind in clash to the crunch of castle pieces shattering far below. Distant screams erupt from those on the ground, Iwaizumi grimacing as she sees human-colored dots racing away from the falling castle. 

“There you are,” Oikawa murmurs under her breath with death on her tongue. Above them, a mythical being tears the sky apart as it surges through cloud. Blue patches of scarred skin thrash against the cloud, smacking down creatures who once claimed the sky for their own. A white dove with blue wingtips bullets to the ground, knocked entirely unconscious - 

“Shit!” Iwiazumi yells as she lurches out the window! Deftly tucking her knee against the inside of the railing, she reaches one arm far so outstretched palm can catch the fallen creature. The Wingull cries softly in her hand, its orange beak chipped from the force of the fall. “Oikawa! Let’s stop it!” she screams, her other hand shaking uncontrollably. 

“I’m going to protect us,” the other girl replies, her voice ice. “You make sure everyone gets to safety.” Without another word, Oikawa climbs onto the window. The plan in her head changes like a curve as sinuous and treacherous as that belonging to the dragon creature who rages out of control outside - 

“Got that,” Iwaizumi obeys. “Hey, Oikawa!” 

The other girl looks back with vacant eyes. Her vision lands upon the shivering Wingull draped over Iwaizumi’s hand. A shudder ripples through the Vice Captain when the seriousness in Oikawa’s expression crashes over her. 

“Be careful,” is all she can manage to murmur. 

“Only for you, Iwa-chan.” The next moment, Oikawa leans outside the window entirely. A breathless moment passes as Iwaizumi registers the Captain’s lithe form skating across the paper-thin wires connecting the pillars of the castle. Ten meters before her, the silhouette of the Gyarados’ face roars, half-tiger, half-sea monstrosity waiting to swallow her whole. The small Wingull flitters onto the windowsill, awaiting its end. 

“Lady Oikawa, Master Iwaizumi!” a voice calls out. Suddenly, reality begins tipping seventy degrees upwards as the very ground thrusts upwards. Yahaba loses her voice as it gets shoved down to her stomach in the force of it all; and simultaneously, her entire world shakes as a terrifying force plummets into the castle’s side. The corners of her existence seem to collapse into themselves as the girl pulls herself upwards with a level to life only known as panic. “There’s a wild Pokemon outside! How can I he-!” 

Another roar breaks through her words and booms within her with the force of an implosion. Shaky hands land on the staff lost in the thick of her robes, the wood feeling unreal in the absurdity of this whole situation. As the servant of Aoba Johsai, she will do her best to put herself on the front of the line before the Princess and her royal guard, the Vice Captain of the Hunt, Lady Iwaizumi. Yahaba rehearses the motto of the nation within her, hoping the recited words will circle around her in protection - 

“Where is our god, Aoba Johsai!” Her words are one stuttered consonant after another, disconnected from meaning. Yahaba doesn't realize that she’s crying until she feels Iwaizumi’s hands over her own. 

“Aoba Johsai gives us these challenges so we grow stronger as people.” In one fluid movement, Iwaizumi brings Yahaba up to the ground with her. Confidence lines the rims of hazel eyes, now intent on barreling their gaze right into Yahaba. “Now don’t you dare think of going out there. Help gather up all the people you can and get them to the foyer.” 

Like that, the young servant straightens herself up. Iwaizumi looks on, proud, as the girl makes her way through the castle. Turning on her heels, Iwaizumi dashes through the other side of the castle. Checking every room she can, beginning with those hugging the outside of the castle, she curses. Why would this structure ever need so many damn rooms? Not that many people live in here, either; her heart thunders in her chest in time with the pulse of revulsion she reserves only for this place. When she’s done after a few minutes that stretch on for eternity, she slides down the crystal staircase, the brightness blinding her against the scream she hears. 

Her heart threatens to stop as her brain registers the owner of that voice. Brain and heart beat out of time, disconnected as Iwaizumi’s blood chills. 

Unaware, her form joins the crowd of people gathering to watch the battle playing on a realm above them. A sea-serpent dragon the very width of the castle’s pillars lurches forward again, suddenly halted by the warrior who plunges her sword through its jaw. Iwaizumi blankly thinks about how _tiny_ Oikawa is in comparison, that she can only see Oikawa from here because she summons the sheer waves of pain rippling through the beast - 

Iwaizumi should be clearing this crowd. She should be leading them far from danger with legs that aren’t frozen, with arms that don’t feel like dead weights at her sides. 

But the only operating part of her is her emotions, the switch of her whole being turning on with the scream pouring from her - 

Because the Gyarados clamps its mighty jaw shut on Oikawa. Suddenly, Iwaizumi moves on her own; the hammers come undone from her back without her consent, iron slamming against iron in a war bell originating from the hell known as agony itself.

“Escape to the outskirts of Seijoh, now!” the woman commands, instantly controlling the crowd. Fear only guides the legs of the citizens as they spy Iwaizumi’s wrists on her hammers, flexing with unbottled anger. Iwaizumi, in half a haze, registers the approach of two figures from the city’s center. Matsukawa and Hanamaki sprint forth, bearing weapons of their own! 

“Clear everyone out,” the Vice Captain commands. The black-haired and pink-haired respective women, one bearing a bow and the other an axe, nod as they herd people outside the radius of falling castle. 

In the meantime, Iwaizumi sprints up the tipping remnants of the castle, nearly slipping too many times to count. By the time she reaches the top of a pillar, Oikawa had cut herself out the mighty beast. Unscathed, she throws a leg in the air; the blades lining her heels slice through the bunches of roughened muscle. A roar erupts from the Gyarados as it retaliates, a creature too slow for the cunning Oikawa. The girl heaves heavily as she brandishes her sword in an L shape. The sapphire hugging the hilt of the blades represents all of Seijoh’s pride and strength, and for a half-second Iwaizumi forgets to breath as her eyes connect with Oikawa’s - 

“Trashykawa,” she mouths. _“You’re stupid for doing this on your own.”_ The latter part of that statement doesn’t make it out of Iwaizumi as her Captain races forward to the beast, flying midair. She manages to get a good jab in before the beast whips her body. The girl screams, losing her balance. Blood arcs though the sky; “Whose blood is that?” Iwaizumi thinks through the tears smearing her vision. 

Iwaizumi chases butterflies because she herself cannot fly. That treasure, that feeling of boundless flight, belongs only to those royal enough to be blessed at birth by the legendary chant supposedly created by Aoba Johsai itself. She knows this intimately as she shakes her head to clear the tears, strands of silky black hair billowing through the wind. She was never made to fly, but she has a feeling more free than flight when her Captain calls to her in a way that only she can answer. 

They’ve never done this before; yet it feels natural when Oikawa lands upon Iwaizumi’s hammer, the girl’s wrist never slowing its motion. Yet time seeps slowly for them as all the colors of the heart disperse amongst them; Oikawa presses her forehead to Iwaizumi, the girl instantly mirroring the motion, so that a ceaseless fire burns upon their joined touch. 

In the same second, Iwaizumi swing finishes its motion. The Princess Warrior of Seijoh barrels through the sky towards the Gyarados, the biggest beast anybody of the nation had ever seen. 

A low roar erupts from the people down below, attracted to danger as is the sin of human curiosity. “Oi!” they yell in unison, as Oikawa flies at an impossible speed, spinning her swords around with her hands until the dual blades break apart on themselves so that Oikawa bears four blades all aiming for the beast’s throat. 

From her vantage point, Iwaizumi sees Oikawa fly, the most beautiful butterfly in creation. Her world stops, the crescendo of the crowd and the blood bashing against her veins all silenced to see what happens next. The history of Seijoh changes forevermore as Oikawa’s four blades meet the thrashing fangs of the creature - 

And the creature’s wail and jaw meets Oikawa - 

Iwaizumi screams her name as the crowd bursts into applause. Four tons of flesh and and skin fall to the ground. The indentations of Oikawa’s blades scream to the audience of their shared victory, of Seijoh’s victory! 

Iwaizumi’s arms are wrapped around Oikawa before she realizes she’s falling, vision gently fading out. “Iwa-chan,” she weakly murmurs, one hand sweeping through her savior’s hair as they descend together. The other hand pales as it finds Iwaizumi’s hammer like a lifeline. Her chin tucks into the girl’s shoulder as she feels the fall spread open the bleeding pools in her back. 

“Princess Oikawa!” Elder Mizoguchi’s voice hollers somewhere in the distance. When Iwaizumi’s feet grace the ground, they land in a circle of white coats and enchanted wands. A portion of the crowd surges forward to begin taking tiny chunks of the deceased beast, the entirety of which could feed the nation for a month. Another section of the onlookers watch as Iwaizumi refuses to let go of Oikawa. Letting go could mean the bleeding would worsen, even if that’s impossible - 

But Iwaizumi refuses this against all reason. 

“Another approaches.” 

A single voice breaks through the din. 

“Kyoutani! We told you to stay away!” comes Yahaba’s voice, straining to be strong. She attempts to pull the arm of the shorter girl whose eyes might as well belong in the sky for all they glow. But Yahaba sees the direction of her gaze and follows it, instantly regretting being the second to witness what may fall upon them for all she can’t do about it. Kyoutani flinches, holding something in her arms closer yet to her chest. 

Iwaizumi hears both of their voices above the chaos erupting about them. She feels the immense shadow above suck all the daylight away from Seijoh. Oikawa’s fingernails dig into her forearms before the girl gently whispers, “Iwa-chan, look up.” 

A magnificent beast coasts in upon a golden nimbus. It easily outclasses the fallen Gyarados, with a maw the size of the entirety of the fallen monster. Magenta eyes pierce through the cloud it summons with its very breath, exposing jaws that could swallow a city whole. 

“Our God, Aoba Johsai…” Kyoutani whispers. Instantly, she bows down first to the mighty dragon coated in teal fur. Tufts of white fur rain down its chest and tail, all sailing through the sea of cloud it concocts for itself. The dragon instantly brings sunset to the island nation, drowning the sorrows of the day in purple and pink light. A thin shimmer of sweat cools over Oikawa’s skin as she holds Iwaizumi close, witnessing the beast approach from over her shoulder. 

“There is no way,” Elder Irihata breaths, “that Aoba Johsai, in its true presence, is here.” 

“I-it has to be,” Elder Mizoguchi replies, before following Kyoutani’s example and bowing. Every living being on the island follows suit until an undulating wave of bodies bows before the dragon quickly approaching. 

With a single breath of frosted air, Aoba Johsai rebuilds the fallen castle. Meticulous spires and towers are reconstructed in a matter of seconds. The creature eventually slows to a stop, hovering over its own castle. Iwaizumi shields her eyes from its greatness. 

When it speaks, its voice booms over the land like a summoned storm. 

“My children, Iwaizumi and Oikawa. I, Aoba Johsai, who have founded your nation, wish the best for you.” 

Tears well in Iwaizumi’s eyes. Her cheeks deepen pink for all that she feels - embarrassment for how overwhelmed she is, concern for Oikawa’s health, the way she doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that her god, Aoba Johsai, directly addresses _her -_

“A time of great evil approaches. It will be you to ensure a future of wellbeing for your citizens and loves ones.” 

With those words, Aoba Johsai blows two twin rings of smoke their way. The plume of smoke that each began the size of a house shrink into little circles the width of Iwaizumi’s finger. It settles onto her finger, running a shock up and down her whole spine so her toes curl and she nearly drops Oikawa as the girl below her convulses the same - 

The following hours blur by for Oikawa and Iwaizumi in a vibrant smudge of sights and sounds. When Iwaizumi wakes up again hours later, Aoba Johsai may have been a dream that settled over her weary consciousness. She awakens in her cottage in the woods, far from the debris of the reconstructed city and the faces forever in awe over the happenings of the afternoon. 

Oikawa consciously remembers seeing one last thing as she leaned against Iwaizumi: Kyoutani opening her arms so the Wingull she healed soars into the sky, singing of glory. 

///

Oikawa’s windowsill rings with a tiny knock. The sound is one decibel loud enough to lift Oikawa out of her sleep; and she smiles at the pure gentleness of the person on the other side of her window. 

The pure darkness catches Oikawa off guard as she kicks silken blankets off herself. But it’s not as surprising as the pain that barrels into her back. Suddenly, the shiny corners of her room become very apparent to her. 

The beast she slain earlier destroyed this very room. 

With that thought, Oikawa is eager to see Iwaizumi’s face leaning into her window. The girl crouches on the ledge, nodding to her as she steps into Oikawa’s room. “Bitchykawa,” she affectionately greets, wasting no time to wrap her arms around her. Oikawa’s back burns as she reciprocates, burying her face in sweet-smelling black hair, hands greedily covering the expanse of bronzed back usually covered by hammers. 

“I brought you something! Soup and a little more,” Iwaizumi exclaims brightly, reaching behind her to retrieve her item from the windowsill. Oikawa curses how quickly the embrace ended but feels a grin light up her face. Her best friend stands there in nothing but an olive tank top that flows past her waist, smiling something stupid back at her. 

“Iwa-chan! Are you my mom?” 

Iwaizumi bops her on the head as she takes her hand, leading her back to a bed big enough to fit five Oikawa’s and not this single Oikawa who brought down a beast of legend. 

“Here,” she says, navigating Oikawa’s grandeur nightstand to find a massive mug that will serve as a bowl. A chandelier glints with the light of the candle blowing below, cloaking the room in rose scent. Oikawa’s items litter the room, restored by her aunts yet strewn about by the girl who couldn’t care less about these sparkling objects. There are few things important to Oikawa and even fewer people so important to her - 

“Hey, Oikawa. Pay attention,” Iwaizumi softly states, gesturing to the spoon flying towards Oikawa’s mouth. The girl clad in a light blue sleeping gown makes a face back at her. It’s clear she’s about to spew some silly nonsense, so Iwaizumi forces the spoon full of soup into her mouth and smirks at her reaction. 

“Iwa-chan, always so good at cooking!” The other girl blushes in response, for once shocked out of a reply. Iwaizumi continues feeding her childhood friend, relishing in this moment of peace and trying her best not to relive today’s moments of pure panic. Iwaizumi’s heartbeat pace picks up as she stares deep into the eyes of her friend, noting the way her freckles glow in the twilight. The pools of moonlight gathered in her room pale in comparison. 

“Oikawa, are you okay?” Her voice is strangled; her hand shakes. 

“Iwa-chan, of course I’m okay! I’m more so worried about you!” Of course, her reply is instant. 

“Let’s wait for you to fully heal before we head out for Nekoma.” 

“Let’s go tomorrow, Iwa-chan!” 

“You really scared the shit outta me today, Oikawa.” 

“Awh Iwa-chan, always the worry wart!” 

“You look like a wart with your hair undone, Oikawa,” she snaps back, a grin already plastered over her face. The other girl responds back by nuzzling Iwaizumi’s hair, cursing and blessing the way it stays put no matter how damn much she wills it to frizz up. 

In the silence of the castle, the girls bounce these replies back and forth. The soup disappears before long; and Iwaizumi forgets how long she’s been here, hurling insults and jokes to Oikawa like the last one to attack the other wins. This is the golden song of children who’ve grown to yield swords and keep their sanity only because of one another. 

Iwaizumi unscrews the lid of the other jar she brought with her. Perfume cloaks the air as she uses her finger to mix the purple jelly within, wrinkling her nose at it. “Your knee,” she commands. 

Without another word, Oikawa rolls out her leg to the other girl. Pink dusts over Iwaizumi’s cheek as she works the Drapion’s mashed armor and blood over the slight bump in the girl’s knee. Genuine amazement flashes in Oikawa’s eyes: for Iwaizumi’s observance of her little pain, for the way she expertly mixed this solution, for the way she must have hunted this Drapion specifically for her. Of course, Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi would never reveal any of this as she diligently makes sure the entire kneecap is covered in the goo. 

“I’m grateful Kyoutani taught me how to make this, after I spent yesternight with her. She saw a particularly bad vision this time, Oikawa. It rattled her to her core.” 

“What, that ratty bitch?” Oikawa responds lazily, poking Oikawa’s forehead so the girl looks up at her. “I don’t buy her psychic powers, Iwa-chan. It all sounds like garbage to me.” 

“Trashykawa!” Iwaizumi exclaims, her eyebrows tightening in anger. “Be kind! She’s special. We need a special power like hers for all that’s coming. I can feel it. Can’t you?” 

The next moment, Oikawa lifts Iwaizumi on top of her. “I can only feel you, Iwa-chan! Did you gain weight by chance?” Oikawa states, putting her finger on her chin quizzically. 

“Shittykawa!” Iwaizumi explodes. Oikawa erupts in endless laughter, calmed only by the gentle cooling-hot touch of Iwaizumi’s forehead on her own. “Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa,” she repeats softly, closing her eyes and ignoring the gravity pushing them closer together. 

“Something serious is happening. We met Aoba Johsai today, of all things. This PokeBall business, Kyoutani’s vision… Oikawa, do you see? Something’s not right in the world.” 

Oikawa holds onto her for as long as she can. Her voice is barely a whisper when she says, “Don’t overthink it, Iwa-chan. Let’s start by finding that PokeBall.” 

“Promise me that you’ll keep true to the laws of the Pact,” Iwaizumi pleads, finding all her strength sapped in this moment. 

Tangible silence stretches out between them, their bodies still pressed together. 

“I promise, Iwa-chan.” 

Suddenly, Iwaizumi feels the glass walls of their mason jar world disappearing so the incoming sunshine of tomorrow becomes brighter, harsher, merciless as it looks upon both of them. She does not ask Oikawa if her ring finger burns as harshly as her own does; she caresses the three scars soaring down Oikawa’s back, each one longer than the other so the longest starts at her left shoulder blade and sears down to her right hipbone, not asking those loud questions in her head about how much it hurts and how she could have prevented standing like a stupid fool while her best friend almost lost her life; she holds Oikawa close to her and hopes she dreams full, deep and lovely dreams. 

Tonight, they are butterflies.


End file.
